La Petite Mort
by theysayitsonlyapapermoon
Summary: Héctor gave a hapless shrug. "Maybe it's just an— intense feeling? Like the French, la petite mort— it's a bit like dying but, y'know— pleasurable." Aka: how adult intimate relationships work in the land of the dead. maybe. Aka: the author is aware of how weird this is.


**A/N: This was supposed to be a little scene at the end of a completely different fic I'm working on and it went off the rails in a big way. Like wow did it go off the rails.**

 ** _La Petite Mort_**

It happened on a particularly quiet and mundane Saturday afternoon.

The shop was closed. The twins were out tinkering on some sort of Rube Goldberg device too complicated to actually be useful. Rosita and Victoria were taking a painting class. Coco and Julio had left with Pepita that morning on some rendezvous. Imelda was alone inside the house. And Imelda was humming.

 _La Llorona_ was for the dishes. _Sobre las Olas_ got her through the dusting in a swirling three step waltz. _Sembrando Flores_ for the floors because the song wasn't the same unless she was tapping her shoes. _Beso de Fuego_ was for the area behind the couch.

She hummed through the clatter of the front door being opened, steps echoing through the hall. "I'm back!" Héctor's voice filtered in from the entryway.

"How'd it go?" Imelda gave the corner of the couch a pronounced shove, pushing it back into place against the wall. She adjusted it till it was squarely parallel with the low table in the center of the room that held an unruly pile of books and puzzles and games she'd have to get to organizing later.

Héctor appeared in the kitchen, just barely visible around the low wall separating the two rooms, a large paper bag balanced in each arm and a third stacked precariously between the two that miraculously had survived the journey without toppling. He left them all on the table. "Benny's was out of bone polish so I had to go to two different places." He removed his hat as well, hooking it on the side of a chair. Imelda replaced the couch pillows.

"Did you buy them out?" she eyed the large bags. He started to unpack, lining bottle after bottle at random on the table. There were three tubes of toothpaste in there, as well as a book that was probably for Victoria, but the vast majority of the table was covered with bone products.

"Well, after taking two trips just to find any I really wasn't looking forward to making another run in two weeks, so—" he shrugged, bottle in one hand. "We're stocked for awhile."

"Yeah, guess who gets to figure out where to store all of it," Imelda said, not expecting an answer. She tossed the last pillow onto the couch, not particularly caring if it landed straight or not, and crossed over to casually kiss him hello.

He smiled warmly at her, and then something like confusion flickered over his face. "Did I hear _humming_ when I came in?"

There was no need to hide it, but he apparently felt a little playful today and, honestly, so did she. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, I'm pretty sure I heard _El Choclo—_ "

"You're probably just hearing things again—"

"It was very beautiful— I could've sworn—"

"No, it's just you. Your head is so full of music there's no room for anything else. Speaking of which," she reached into the pocket of her apron. "Look what I found under the couch cushions."

In her palm was a thin, white finger bone, the end of his left pinky to be specific.

"Oh, that's where it went!" Héctor reached for the missing appendage, all but placing his hand directly in her palm. The bone shook a little in Imelda's hand when the shortened finger got close enough to it's missing piece. It snapped back into place all at once like a magnet.

Héctor wiggled his fingers experimentally. " _Gracias, mi amor._ "

" _De nada,_ " she grasped his fingers with both hands before he could step away. "Y'know, I would really appreciate it if you kept better track of yourself." She ran her thumb meaningfully over his knuckles. Next to his, her fingers looked tiny.

"That's no fun," he grinned. "I have you for that."

"Mmmm," she hummed against his fingers, leaving a light kiss there. " _Sí_ , and it's exhausting. How often you misplace things."

"Well, for your sake, _mi vida,_ I will try to be less careless."

" _Gracias, mi vida._ " She continued her brief study of his fingers with another kiss along the joints in his knuckles. His free hand maneuvered into stroking the edge of her jaw. Imelda turned and took care of that one, too. They were just bone but they felt so warm.

"You know—" she said softly, "The kids are all out of the house."

* * *

Héctor dropped backwards over the arm of the couch, pillows crushed under his frame. The furniture creaked as Imelda followed directly after, practically jumping into his long arms. The overstuffed couch was narrow and offered just enough room for her to hover on top of him, one knee bracketing his hips on either side. Her skirt covering most of his legs.

With his head in her hands, she pressed down into a long, eager kiss. Moved to his hairline, cheekbones, chin, mouth, neck. He held her jawline and the kiss took a deeper route, bizarrely pliable and just soft enough, occasional sound of teeth clacking. It was equal parts familiar and strange. Nostalgic and new. They were still getting used to this in their current forms.

Imelda felt around for his waist, almost on instinct. Her fingers found his spine, absently ran over those bones while most of her energy poured into kissing him thoroughly. Behind her mouth, he made a low, unconscious noise. She tried to break away slightly but he guided her back, his fingers tangled up in her hair. Her hand slid forward, running up his spinal cord and getting into his rib cage.

" _Mierda,"_ he shrugged out of the kiss, gasping. "Do that again."

Imelda stared perplexed at her fingers now visible through the space in between his ribs. She hadn't realized what she'd been doing exactly. She'd been trying to hold him and he didn't have much of a middle to hold anymore and somehow—

"What, this?" She traced her fingers slowly, making sure to hit each vertebrae until her hand was practically to his clavicle, completely encased by his ribs. Héctor pulled his chin down as far as it would go, like he was trying to look through himself to see what she was doing. His chest rose and fell dramatically as he breathed. She dragged her hand back the opposite direction, more purposeful this time, digging in a little bit. His eyes fluttered closed. His head made a heavy drop against the pillow and he let out a noise that was unmistakable.

"Never thought I'd hear that again," she said, more noncommittal than she actually felt.

His laugh was pleasant and light and just a little self-deprecating. It melded with a complimentary groan when she squeezed at his backbone.

Héctor once had an entire library of moans and sighs, grunts and gasps, unique ways to say "this pleases me", that in no way qualified as words. Apparently they were still in there, and the thought of spending all day trying to uncover each one made her a little dizzy.

"Do you want me to keep—"

" _¡Sí!_ " He blurted out without letting her finish.

She laughed a little despite the situation. They were supposed to be dead. What they were doing made absolutely no sense. Stroking him like he had any kind of male parts to explain the very palpable reaction she was getting. And yet in a way it was perfectly consistent. Whether it was from inertia or habit or whatever, their souls still often partook in what they enjoyed in life. They didn't really need sleep, but when the sun went down they slept. They didn't have stomachs, but they could still eat. They couldn't have sex exactly, but—

His back began to arch under her touch. She doubled down, gripping his spine with one hand and exploring his rib cage with the other.

"Imelda," he moaned. Privately, she adored the way he said her name, all hushed and quiet like a prayer. She kissed a trail up his sternum.

"Imelda—"

He must've liked that because he slowly started to rock underneath her. She pushed back with her hips.

"Is this force of habit or something?" she wondered aloud. He grabbed at her pelvis so quickly she actually yelped. Up to now he'd been pretty careful with her. Too careful.

"Imelda— I don't— I mean— I need—I" He bucked again, pulling her down, creating a weird, unsettling clatter. Imelda grabbed at his rib cage from the outside this time, partly to avoid getting knocked off balance, fingers curling in between his ribs. He groaned in response.

The rocking motion settled into a steady, exacting rhythm. She watched with morbid fascination how it rolled through his spine, through the core of him, like a wave. Literally bone rattling. Her head felt light.

" _Te amo—_ " His eyes cracked open, just barely. " _Te amo tanto— te quiero— amo—Meldaa—_ "

"Oh, _amorrr_ —" Imelda let the final sound roll right out of her throat, "I think I broke you."

Whatever he'd been about to say was completely indecipherable and somewhat loud. She rocked herself forward to kiss him hard enough to muffle the rest of it. His fingers pulled at her, complaining at the sudden ease of this bizarre mounting tension. She roughly let him go, sitting back on him even further. Her knees really needed a break.

Both her hands closed around his spinal cord again, raking it back and forth.

" _Ahh—I- Ay-I-_ " Héctor wailed.

Her hands sped up.

" _Mm— eldaaa—_ "

Suddenly, the marks on his bones flashed.

Imelda jumped back, scrambling off of him, tearing her hands away.

Héctor blinked, gasping deep, his hand went to his chest as if on reflex. She must have looked startled because his eyes changed from confusion to concern once he looked at her. "Wha-What's wrong? Why did you stop?"

"You were— you were glowing," she explained, horrified.

He frowned. Tried to get his breathing under control. Looked down at his hands. Tentatively touched his own vertebrae.

"I- I feel fine," he told her. "I don't think I was— I mean, it didn't hurt. It wasn't like being forgotten," he looked away, and then, as if it needed to be said, "It actually felt really, _really_ good, like— it felt like— well, you know—" He couldn't help sounding a bit embarrassed.

His hair was a little disheveled but, to her, he looked alright. Not hurting or weak or dying. Not like those agonizing moments where she'd been so afraid he was about to crumble to dust before her eyes.

"Why would you be glowing like that, if it wasn't—"

Héctor gave a hapless shrug. "Maybe it's just an— intense feeling? Like the French, _la petite mort—_ it's a bit like dying but, y'know— pleasurable."

Imelda frowned, her mouth pulled down in a stiff line.

"Hey, I'm fine, _está bien_ ," he sat up, entering the side of the couch she'd banished herself to and taking her hands. Letting her know he was still tangible and solid. "I'm not going anywhere."

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just paranoid," she admitted.

"Don't apologize," he leaned forward, let his forehead rest against hers. Still here. Still real. "I'm honestly flattered you're so worried about me, _cariño_."

" _¡Ay, Cállate!—_ " she laughed, embarrassed.

"I could try to— If you want," he said.

She held her breath for a long time. Did they even need to breathe anymore?

"You want to touch me," she finally said. When had they become as nervous as teenagers? They were much too old for this.

"I mean, it would only be fair."

Imelda considered it for a hot second. He seemed alright and she couldn't help being curious. His thumb traced a small circle over her carpal bones.

She let him go and reached behind her back for the clasp at her collar. "This dress is a living pain to get on and off, so you're going to have to help me," she told him. The tiny hook came open and her collar slipped loose.

"That's more of a selling point than anything," Héctor leaned in.

Imelda eased her shoulder out of it's sleeve. Héctor guided the fabric down her arm, all the while pressing short kisses down her humerus to her elbow to her wrist and making the process altogether more cumbersome. "You're impossible," she said fondly.

"But you love me," he replied, going for her other shoulder.

"Very much. _Dios ayúdame_." She yanked down her other sleeve, rotating her wrist until it got through the narrow part of it. Héctor reached around her to finish undoing the back of the dress. The tight fit around her waist loosened and the garment fell into her lap. She suddenly felt very exposed despite the lack of anything that pertinent to expose.

Tentatively, he touched her spine, right between her ribs and her pelvis.

Imelda didn't know what she'd expected. It was a little weird, that part of her spine rarely came into contact with anything at all, but it certainly didn't feel orgasmic. He drew his fingers up her spinal cord, the way that she had done. She could feel each little bump as they went over every vertebra. She stared down into her ribs, inhaled with apprehension as finger bones appeared there. Definitely strange. Not bad, per se, but not great either. Maybe it simply didn't work on her.

"Close your eyes," Héctor said, removing his hand.

"Why?"

"Just— trust me."

She gave him a hard, sidelong look for a moment, but in the end she indulged him.

He didn't move right away. She sat in patient silence with her arms at her sides. When he finally leaned in, it was to kiss her. Even eyes closed she'd known how to sense that coming. She tilted her head, leaned into his kiss. Just when her mind began to wander he moved on to her jawline, and then her neck. She tilted her head to give him space. He kissed her sternum once, and then randomly went back to her mouth. He liked to try to catch her off guard, she supposed. Even when they had been alive he was like that. When they were alive—

And that was when he brushed her spine.

She felt a light ripple all the way up her spinal cord, ending in a trembling echo at the base of her skull. The involuntary gasp she let out got lost inside another deep kiss. His fingers slid confidently over her bones, first one set and then the other. Tapping and sliding and stroking and damn him and his musician hands.

A warm, tingling sensation coiled around her, like a bubble of energy coming alive at the small of her back. Something in her chest actually pulsed. It spread in short bursts in between her bones and out through her fingertips and between her legs. She jerked out of the kiss to breathe.

" _¡Dios mio, Héctor!_ "

"I know, right?"

"What are you doing to me?"

"Stop?"

"No, no don't stop," she grabbed for his necktie and yanked him into another hard kiss.

The arm of the couch pressed against her from the back and Héctor from the front and between them Imelda steadily lost herself. Once she got going there wasn't a spot to hit that didn't produce some measure of sensation, but for some reason, that lumbar area of her spine had it the worst. Touching her there he might as well be touching her everywhere, it spread so fast.

He actually managed to hold eye contact with her for awhile. And, with what could only be described as a devilish smile, he bent to her waist and pressed a kiss to her backbone.

"Oh, not fair!" she writhed. A shock of fire raced through her.

He kissed up that little area of her spine the same way he had her arm. She held his head there, gathering up fistfuls of hair.

"That's such a good idea. God damn you!"

The fool had the audacity to laugh. " _Te amo_ ," he said slyly.

" _Ah, Dios_ ," she dipped her head back. She had never been more aware of it before, that energy radiating off him that just wanted so badly to make her happy. That was so good. So good she could almost feel her skin. She loved him so much—

She lost track of how long it took. The warmth surrounding her core slowly built to something white hot and delicious. The pulse in her chest started to hammer. Nerves she shouldn't feel, organs she shouldn't have stirred to life within her. She clutched at Héctor, shamelessly hugging with her legs, fingers gripping his shoulder blades in a manner not exactly gentle. She rocked against him. Turned into a throbbing mess.

Maybe they weren't dead at all. Maybe they were back home and reckless and young and _—and—!_

One last, intense wave shocked through her, every bone going rigid and yet trembling at the same time. She cried out.

"Careful, careful," Héctor held her steady, let her collapse on him. She'd been about to sway backwards. Her head was swimming. She looked down to find a light glow pulsing between the little bones making up her wrist and her fingers. She watched it brighten along with her heavy breathing and then softly fade.

"You alright?" Héctor asked, his voice vibrated against her cheek.

"Mmmhmmm," she hummed back.

"Can you move at all?" he asked, facetious.

"In a minute, maybe," she smiled, teeth against his collarbone.

He pressed one last, little kiss onto her temple. Like the final sting at the end of a song. Imelda relaxed into it, content to just let him hold her for awhile. He fiddled with the dress, still tangled about her legs.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked finally.

"That's a little personal—"

Héctor made a terrible pouting sort of noise.

"Stop that."

"I'm just curious, that's all."

She drew back, looking at him fully. It was a long enough road, learning to trust each other not just once but twice. No need to make it longer.

"I was thinking about home. About you. About how lucky I am to have you here."

"Wasn't luck, but continue—"

She grew quiet. Idly fixed the corner of his lapel. "I was thinking about— after everything I did, after everything I said about you—"

"I thought we weren't going to dwell on that anymore."

"I'm not dwelling, but it still happened. I'm going to think about it every once in awhile. I rejected you about a thousand ways and you're still—"

"Here."

She shook her head. "More than that, you and I— you're still—"

"Crazy about you."

"If you _want_ to call it that—"

He just shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I was also thinking how typical that you would find a way to have sex despite being thoroughly dead."

"Hey, hey, hey," he held up one finger, pointing it toward her sternum. "Technically _you_ figured it out. I was along for the ride."

"Sure," she said sarcastically.

"I would just be content to gaze from afar at your beautiful face—"

"That is a lie—"

"Sing you sweet nothings from under your window—"

"Héctor—"

"Maybe the privilege of kissing your hand every other Tuesday."

"Héctor, seriously—"

" _¿Sí, mi amor?_ "

She took the lapels of his jacket-turned-vest, one in each hand. She felt brave, powerful even, or perhaps it was merely afterglow. She smiled.

"Close your eyes."

 **A/N: Dear Lord, I'm writing notes for this...**

 **-The songs mentioned in the beginning are all real songs. La Llorona you obviously know. Sobre las Olas you've probably heard before, it's a very famous waltz by Mexican composer Juventino Rosas first published in 1888. Sembrando Flores is a song by Los Cojolites, which I chose because I wanted something more contemporary that still sounded timeless. Beso de Fuego began as an Argentinian tango called El Choclo (the Corncob) somewhere between 1890-1907 by Ángel Villoldo. It's lyrics were changed several times over the years, in 1952 Louis Armstrong recorded a version with English lyrics called Kiss of Fire (which is how I knew of it). Kiss of Fire was then translated back into Spanish and sung by Connie Francis as Beso de Fuego, which is why Imelda and Héctor use different names for the same tune.**

 **-Bone polish was mentioned in the novelization as a product advertised in the Land of the Dead. I figured it was the equivalent to soap or lotion. I look forward to your appropriately inappropriate jokes, haha.**

 **-La petite mort (little death) is often used as a catchall term for orgasm, but specifically a brief loss of/ weakened consciousness during orgasm. Other than being a death comparison right there I figured there was nothing preventing the mental/emotional/spiritual part of sex experiences in the Land of the Dead, and even things like physical health are tied to memory anyway. So even if they don't have the physical parts they'd still remember what it was like and that would be enough to trigger it.**


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